An Empire of Difference
by nooziewoozie
Summary: "Art ill, Csethiro?" Maia pitched his voice low for her ears only. Her hand tightened on his, and he heard her quick, nervous inhalation before she said, "No, merely pregnant." Maia and Csethiro have all the babies.


**Title:** An Empire of Difference  
**Pairings/Characters:** Maia and Csethiro have babies.  
**Rating:** T?  
**Notes:** I dont care what anyonr says, babies-ever-after epilogues are the best.

Maia found Csethiro prostrate over her commode and making terrible retching sounds. Evro, who had been crouched over her mistress and rubbing her back, hurried to stand and curtsy to Maia. He gestured Evro back to her work, cold with worry. He did not know the proper thing to do in this situation—surely, per tradition, a husband had no place in delicate matters such as these, and yet he was loathe to leave Csethiro to her misery. _Let us set a new precedent_, he thought, and crossed cold marble floor to Csethiro's side.

"Art in pain, Csethiro?" he asked softly, setting a hand on her back.

Csethiro stopped long enough to gasp, "I am not."

Maia was making his mind up as to whether or not to believe her when Kiru approached, saying, "Please, come away, Serenity."

"We do not like to leave our empress in distress," he said.

"If we may be so bold, Serenity, let us look after her," Kiru offered. "If her highness wishes?"

Csethiro rasped, "Well enough," and dove for the commode again.

"We shall be in the dining room," Maia said, "and we trust our wife to your care, Kiru Athmaza. But, please, send for us if there is even the slightest need, or if our person may be of some…comfort."

"Of course, Serenity. You may rest assured that we will care for her highness as scrupulously as we would for you." Kiru bowed, which was as much as sign of respect as it was a request for him to leave.

"We believe you," Maia said and quit the room reluctantly with Telimezh trailing after him, aware that he needed to give the women space and not crowd Kiru with his worry and his anxious need for assurance. Isheian gave him a very strong, very hot cup of tea; he held it with shaking hands and tried to remember how Chenelo's sickness had begun. Had his mother ever been violently ill? He could not recall—he remembered her thin face and the lines around her mouth, her weakness and her increasing frailty, but nothing like whatever plagued Csethiro, she of normally stout constitution. _Please_, he prayed to Csaivo, _please let her have eaten some thing that did not agree with her, nothing more. Please let this not portend greater sickness than that._

Presently, Evro came to fetch him, and Maia hurried back to Csethiro's rooms with what his courtiers would have considered unseemly haste. Csethiro was in bed in a new nightgown, looking pale and fatigued, but otherwise healthy. He chanced a glance at Kiru's face as well, but she, too, did not look alarmed or distraught or ready to divulge bad news. The set of Kiru's ears, in fact, was _jaunty_. Something inside Maia's stomach unclenched.

"There you are, Serenity," Csethiro said. She sounded much more in command of herself. "Will you come sit by us? It is the height of bad form, we know, to welcome you into our boudoir in such shabby dishabille, and in broad daylight besides, but we find it difficult to worry overmuch about stuffy tradition in our own home."

He crossed the room with alacrity and sat on the edge of Csethiro's bed. Gingerly, he took her hand in his. She did not snatch it back—indeed, had never even stiffened her hand in protest to his touch—but it still felt like a small miracle. "Art ill, Csethiro?" He pitched his voice low for her ears only.

Her hand tightened on his, and he heard her quick, nervous inhalation before she said, "No, merely pregnant."

Very many things happened inside Maia's head at that moment. Her words—_merely_ pregnant, as though such a wondrous thing could be _merely _anything—rang like bells in his ears, filling him with fear and worry and…excitement? For he knew he would love a child borne of their bodies, borne of their friendship and partnership and maybe even love. But he would be burdening that child, too, especially if it was a boy. Burdening him with the weight of an entire empire with its worries and heartaches, with its people and their livelihoods and wellbeing, with its industry and trade and a hundred million other responsibilities, each heavier than the last.

Csethiro tugged at his hand, her eyes large with worry, ears low. "Maia?" she whispered. "Art thou…pleased? With this?"

"I am surprised," he said, and it was the truth.

"Perhaps I ought to have told thee with more delicacy," she said.

"Perhaps."

The corner of Csethiro's mouth curled up in a half-smile. "It _is_ a common by-product of marriage, I am told."

That surprised a chuckle out of Maia, breaking him out of his paralysis. "Of course I am pleased, Csethiro." And that was the truth, too. "I just did not expect it so soon."

Her smile spread to the rest of her mouth, lightening her countenance and lifting her ears. "Thou'rt very assiduous in the fulfillment of thy marital duties, Maia."

Maia, feeling pleased and daring and hot in the cheeks, pressed a kiss to the hand he still held. "Csethiro, how art thou feeling otherwise?"

She wrinkled her nose, a childish gesture he found endlessly endearing, and said, "Whosoever called motherhood 'the most sacred right, duty, pleasure, and privilege of all womankind', for I _did_ read that inane screed in a text my stepmother forced upon us, was an _idiot_. Loves improving texts, does Stepmother. At any rate, I feel no different today than I did yesterday, only I am nauseous and dizzy and the very thought of food makes me want to vomit. 'Wondrous quickening of body and soul' indeed."

"Is that normal? Thou must tell me, for I know nothing of this."

She waved a negligent hand. "Very normal. I attended both Tiavan and Hino throughout their confinements, and it is always this way during the early days."

"It is true, Serenity," Kiru put in from near the door.

Maia sighed, sparing his nohecharei an exasperated glance. Kiru smiled at him, unrepentant, and Telimezh was turning an interesting shade of tomato.

He turned back to Csethiro. "I know not how to go about this. Is there an announcement to be made? How soon?"

"Nothing yet," Csethiro said. "We should not make the official announcement until the end of the fourth month, as that is the most auspicious." She made an abstracted face. "Normally, I do not subscribe to such folderol, but in a matter so important, I find myself reluctant to abandon it. Thus, motherhood makes fools of us all. Of course, the court will already know, because some signs are difficult to hide, but that is not to be helped."

"I suppose not," he said. "And fatherhood must make fools of us as well, for I am…I am overcome, Csethiro. But I _am_ happy. Know that. I am very happy."

"Serenity," Telimezh said, "we hate to interrupt, but the clock…"

Maia sighed. "I hate to go."

"I know," she said, an in a mirror of his earlier gesture, kissed his hand she still held, and then let it go. The press of her lips across his knuckles, soft as silk and infinitely more precious, lasted but a moment, but it warmed him like nothing else could. "But thy duty awaits, and I would not like thee half as much if thou wert in the habit of neglecting thy duties."

"We will talk," he said, standing reluctantly. "May I attend thee in thy chamber tonight? If thou wishest otherwise, or for some time to thine own use, I understand."

"No," she said, clear and low, ears flicking uneasily. "I will expect thee."

"Very well," he said. What did a husband do, when his wife was pale and uneasy, carrying what was probably the most precious cargo in the Ethuveraz? Maia wanted to gather her to him and shelter his face in the cove of her neck. But she still looked unwell and the bruises under her eyes, the color of crushed lavender, spoke eloquently of fatigue. Best, he supposed, to let her rest, and so he contented himself with brushing a lock of moonspun hair from her forehead. "Take care, Csethiro. Please."

He turned to go when he felt her tug at the hem of his doublet. Maia turned to look; Csethiro held his doublet in the tiniest of grips, between her thumb and forefinger, and she was pink. "Come," she said, and blushed harder; her throat worked, once, twice, as she struggled speak. "Please. No matter how late it becomes, or…or how tired thou art. If only to rest beside me. Please, come."

An overwhelming tenderness bloomed inside Maia's chest, for Csethiro was frightened, and for all of her innate courage and her abundance of family, she was turning to him in her moment of need. The entire empire depended upon the emperor, of course, but no one, not until Csethiro had asked him to come to her, had depended on him so personally—not because of the mantle of Edrehasivar, but because he was her husband, and the father of her child, and because she was fond of him. Might even love him a little, for he was more and more sure every day that what he felt for her was the beginning of love. Had he had a father worth knowing, or a guardian worth the name, he might have asked them about it.

This was no place for bitter thoughts, and he banished them as he took Csethiro's face in the gentlest grip he could manage. "Look away, all of you," he said to the room, and then kissed Csethiro's forehead. "I will come to thee, no matter the hour."

"It is not such a desperate situation as that," she said a little breathlessly, but there was warmth in her eyes and the set of ears was not so alarmed.

"Marriage makes fools of us all," he said, feeling very daring, very foolish, and very happy, which was the strangest and most welcome feeling of all.

* * *

That night, Maia did come to attend his empress in her chambers, leaving his nohecharei hovering on the other side of her door, and Csethiro received him gladly. She insisted, in deference to the grey circles beneath his eyes, that they remove to the bedroom, and when they lay together, her ear to his chest and their bodies comfortably entangled, he told her, in fits and starts, of Setheris Nelar.

"Why didst thou not tell me before?" she asked. "Didst not trust me?"

"I did trust thee," he said, his voice a pleasant rumble beneath her ear. She spread her hand over his chest, above his heart, as was a wife's right. As was, she thought fiercely, a lover's right. His edocherei would know too, of course, but only she was the intimate audience to the subtler changes in his body—the thickening of arms to ropy muscle, the new deepness of his chest, the newfound luxuriance of his hard thighs and calves. Velvet, and the mornings Maia rode him, were having the predictable result, and too had Csethiro made it a personal mission to ensure her husband ate and did not merely play with his food when he could not leave the worries of his day. Maia would always be a slender man, but he was no longer delicate. "I only did not want thee to think less of me."

"I would not have," she said, sitting up half-way to look him in his extraordinary eyes. "Thou art a kind and gentle man, and would have been even kinder and gentler as a boy. What excuse could there be for such mistreatment? Tell me where he is, Maia, and I will _end him_ where he stands."

He stared at her, searching her face for something, and after a few moments, he seemed to have found it, for he smiled that shy, sweet smile at her. "I cannot help but notice that thou often threatenst to visit great bodily harm to those who have hurt me, or those who have tried to do so. It is a little strange to say, but I am…heartened by it. I have never had so staunch a champion before."

"And thou wilt always have me," she said.

He folded his arms around her again gently, always gently, as though he was afraid of trapping her. She wished he would, for she had no desire to run. "I thank thee, Csethiro. But please, do not kill anyone on my behalf."

She tucked her face against his neck and affected a sigh. "If thou wilt insist."

"I do," and she felt rather than heard the smile in his voice. He was quiet for a time; she felt, too, the thoughts brewing under the soft cadence of his breath. She locked the questions behind her teeth and let him think. _It is good_, she said to herself, contenting herself with drawing mindless patterns on his chest with her fingertips, _for a wife to trust her husband with his thoughts, and to trust that he will bring them to her when he is ready._

"If I had a father who was known to me," he said at length, "or brothers who were likewise, or a worthy guardian, I think I would have a great many things to ask them."

"About the business of ruling an empire?"

"That," he said, "but also about marriage, and being a husband, and how to love one's child and still abandon him to this exhausting business."

"I think thou art a good husband," she said, and ventured to press a small kiss to his heart. His breath hitched as she did it, and that made him only dearer to her. "And I am convinced beyond any shadow of a doubt that thou wilt make a wonderful father."

"How?" he asked, sounding lost. "I will ensure all my children understand the workings of the Untheileneise Court and the Ethuveraz, as I did not, but what of the rest of it? I did not know my own father, and Setheris—Csethiro, I would rather die than treat my child in his mode. And I hear his voice still, and know so well the cruelty he imparted. His is the only example I have."

She pressed closer to her husband. "But also thou hadst thy mother, Maia."

He stilled in that preternatural way of his, like a deer that had scented a wolf, and was moments away from bolting. "What is thy meaning?"

"I have listened, Maia. Thou dost not talk of Chenelo Zhasanai often, but I have hoarded every word thou spake of her, and I know that thy compassion and thy kindness and thy good heart did not come from Varenechibel or from Setheris Nelar." She kissed that heart again, just to be sure. "Thy heart is thy mother's legacy, and as it is thy good heart that guides the Ethuveraz, that takes the Elflands to great and new frontiers, perforce that is thy mother's legacy as well. Varenechibel would not have visited an old woman's deathbed, no matter how many kindnesses she may have done him, but I think Chenelo Zhasanai would have." _And therein_, she thought, _lay an entire empire of difference_.

She listened to his heart, strong and fast under her ear, and waited for him to speak.

"Thou art right," he said finally, sounding bemused. Slowly, gently, he drew careful fingertips over her scalp, massaging the day's tensions away. "Thou art right, as usual, and I thank thee. My mother was my entire world and she is more than enough of an example. As thou art."

"Then, perhaps thou wilt listen to another idea." She took a deep breath. She had noticed during her long courtship of her husband, that he derived more joy from gifts of feeling rather than material. She had been keeping this thought close, but it was, after all, meant to be shared. And Csethiro desperately wanted to give him this gift. "I have been thinking of names for our child, and what dost thou think of naming our first boy Chenelis?"

"After my mother?" Maia's voice sounded odd—half-choked and hoarse.

Csethiro raised her head to look at his face, but Maia did not look angry or shocked or disdainful. He looked shyly delighted. Heart lightening, she continued, "Thy mother deserves that honor. Indeed, she deserves more than I can give, but I only have this to offer. And I will not pretend that I will not enjoy spiting the more, ah, traditional and conservative factions of the court this way."

"Ah," Maia said.

"'Ah,' indeed, husband. And, to be sure, if it is Chenelo Zhasanai's spirit that lights the Ethuveraz's future, I think it is only appropriate that said future be put into the hands of a man who bears Chenelo Zhasanai's name."

He was very still for three thunderous beats of Csethiro's heart, then he surged against her, rolling on top of her. He covered her face in kisses—on both her eyelids, her nose, her mouth, her cheeks. Then, after lingering at her mouth and surely driving Csethiro inches from madness, he pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "I do not know how to thank thee," he whispered. There were tears very close to the surface of his voice. "And indeed, that is a very paltry turn of phrase to express the depth of my gratitude for thy kindness. And it is not kindness, but several orders of magnitude beyond mere kindness, but I do not have the words for that, either."

Tears gathered in Csethiro's eyes. Csethiro had no use for tears, but here, in her husband's bed, perhaps they were not so useless. Perhaps, here, they might not need to be savagely curtailed for fear of showing weakness. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer, tried to encourage him with her body to settle his weight onto her fully. She was sturdy. She could bear his weight and not break.

And dear, dear man—he did. Tentatively and full of skittish watchfulness, but he settled into her, and she kissed him, long and thorough. She was his wife, and that was her right.

"I am glad," she said fiercely, "that thou didst not decide on Loran Duchenin for thy empress. I am very pleased to be thy wife."

He smiled shyly at her, and what a mess of contradictions he was, to be pressed so fully against her—indeed, to be hardening against her—and to still be bashful. "It may be duty, but it is a very pleasant one. And, an truth be told, it stopped being any kind of duty long ago."

"Speaking of duty," she murmured in his ear, and moved against him. "Perhaps we might exercise one right now."

A worried frown plucked at his brow. "But, wilt be able to bear it? With the—?"

"Yes," she said. "I will bear it just fine. But, if thou art still unsure, know that I asked Kiru Athmaza about this very thing, and she assured me most firmly that not only is bedsport possible, it is encouraged."

He groaned, coloring a deep grey, and buried his hot face against the crook of her neck. "Oh, thou'rt too much. Too much." He peeked up at her, happily scandalized. "_Kiru_ said that?"

"Kiru Athmaza has a very practical turn of mind," Csethiro said primly, and set to encouraging her husband to make love to her. And Maia, being possessed of the legendary Drazadeise stubbornness and the persnickety attention to detail that was all his own, rose to the occasion magnificently.

* * *

Harvest came early in the third year of Edrehasivar VII's reign, and it came in abundance. Great carts rolled over the Wisdom Bridge, piled high with golden grain, and it was said to be a good omen, for the Empress Csethiro was brought to bed in hopes of delivering a son. It was a matter of great importance, if one were to listen to gossip on the byways of the Ethuveraz—everyone, from the meanest scullion to the princes themselves, had heard of the great love between the emperor and empress (there were, alas, troubadours in every corner of the empire composing ballads to that love, and those ballads were, if one were being generous, only one-fourth true), and they all prayed with varying amounts of sincerity for a son and a safe delivery, generally in that order.

Maia, on the other hand, was eyeing a bottle of sorcho dubiously.

"Go on, Serenity," Thanet, one of his brothers-in-law said, holding out a glass. "They'll be a while yet."

He would know, having had six children at last count. But—no, not the sorcho. "We have no head for spirits, and our empress might need us," Maia said.

"We doubt it, Serenity," Csevet said, "as the Dach'osmerrem Solchevaran assured us that all was well in hand."

Csevet had never lied to Maia, and surely two of Csethiro's sisters and the midwife and Doctor Ushenar, between them, knew what they were doing. But, still, he could not stop the anxious racing of his heart, try to count his breathing as he might.

In the corner of the room of the Alcethmeret where Csevert and Esaran had herded them all, Naraïs, Maia's other brother-in-law, taught a determined-looking Mireän how to play chess. Vedero sat beside, her, doing complicated calculations on a sheet of paper and muttering to herself, and Idra sat beside his aunt, reading a heavy tome of law. Arbelan had come as well, and she sat with Ino, showing the little girl how to knit. Ino was making a hash of it, but Arbelan Zhasanai was patient, and corrected each mistake gently. Nadeian came, too, as night fell, and they all gathered around him, these proud, practical ladies of his household, and did what they could to ease his anxiety: Vedero spoke to him about the waxing and waning angles between the stars; Nadeian told him stories of other births, more difficult ones, where the child was determined to come into the world hindquarters first, and not to worry "for no child of yours would be so ill-behaved, Serenity"; and Arbelan told him no niece of hers would go out without a fight and would he take himself in hand, please. He forgave her that one because it made Ino and Mireän laugh.

Hours and hours later, Tiavan burst into the room, looking tired but exultant. Maia all but leapt out of his chair, startling Cala and Beshelar. "Well?" he asked.

"A boy," Tiavan said, and when she smiled, she looked very much like Csethiro. "And Csethiro is fine, and they are both waiting to see you, Serenity."

Maia barely thanked her, and the words of gratitude he forced out before racing up the stairs were not at all adequate, but he didn't think Tiavan would mind.

_A boy,_ he thought, blood roaring in his ears. _A boy, a boy_.

_And Csethiro is fine._

Hino was still at Csethiro's bedside, and Doctor Ushenar and the midwife were still conferring in the corner, but Maia's vision blurred at the edges—only Csethiro, tired and pale and holding a swaddled bundle, was the bright center. Cala or Beshelar hovered near him, in case he swooned, but he did not—could not.

"Come meet Chenelis," Csethiro croaked.

His feet carried him to his family's side, and there were tears on his face, and he did not know from whence they came. There were tears on Csethiro's face, too.

"What a pair we are," she said, sniffling.

He sat next to her and gingerly put an arm around her. "My lady," he muttered into her hair. "My brave, brave lady."

"Rest assured, I will regale thee with all the gory details," she said, "but first, meet thy son."

Maia braced himself and looked down at the tiny babe, and though he had thought himself prepared for the sight, the feeling still drowned him as easily as a scullery boy could drown a kitten. Chenelis had his mother's nose and his father's grey skin, his grandmother's winged brow and his father's grey eyes. _The Drazhadeise eyes_, Maia thought. _My eyes._ Chenelis had a serious cast to his features as he surveyed the crying adults hovering above him, and then he yawned, and Hino was there, saying the prince needed to be put to the breast again. Would his Serenity mind?

"No," he said, falling in love very hard and very fast, and not caring at all, "we do not."

* * *

"Haven't thou duties, Maia?" Csethiro asked as her husband peeked into the nursery for the fourth time that morning.

Maia smiled sheepishly as he took Chenelis from her, tucking the babe against his neck. It was free of jewelry this early in the day. "I am loath to leave," he admitted. "He is changing before my eyes. What if he does something marvelous, and I am not here to see it?"

Chenelis, for his part, wiggled, yawned, and settled to sleep, perfectly at peace in his father's arms when he had been restive and fussy with Csethiro and both of the nursery-maids.

"Look at that little traitor," Csethiro said bemusedly. "Maia, he sleeps all day. And I promise, I will give him twice the usual complement of kisses and redouble the snuggle time, and so both of us will bear thy absence bravely."

"Such is the imperial burden," Maia said, his mouth quirking in a smile. "Triple the number of kisses, please. It will not do to neglect that aspect of parenthood."

"Thou drivest a hard bargain, husband," Csethiro said, and took Chenelis back. "I believe Mer Aisava is hovering in the hallway, waiting to usher thee unto thy day."

Maia glanced the the door, where Kiru and Telimezh stood. "Close your eyes, you two," he said, and when they did, smiling as much as their post would allow, Maia kissed their son's little hand and then Csethiro's cheek. "For luck," Maia said, flushing faintly grey.

"Thou growst bold," Csethiro said, delighted and faintly pink herself, and waved him on his way. He went, and she stood for a while, holding their son close, learning to feel unfettered happiness and to trust it. "Thy father is darling," she murmured to Chenelis's ear, grinning, "and we love him very, very much."

* * *

Csethiro had had to guide him, step by small step, into this kind of family intimacy. As callow and skittish as he had been before marriage, he would have never nudged her hip with his, nor climbed into bed with her, armed with a cup of soothing lemon tea. Maia gladly did so now, watching his wife with concern. Such was a husband's domain, from the meanest goatherd to the emperor himself, and Maia never felt so husbandly as when Csethiro was pregnant.

"Hast brought libation?" Csethiro asked, smiling tiredly. "My thanks."

"Canst keep something else down, dost thou think?" he asked as she took the tea cup from him and settled into the crook of his arm. Csethiro this early in pregnancy, they had learned the hard way, had best begin her days with honey lemon tea. Nothing else settled her stomach.

"In a moment," Csethiro said, eyeing the breakfast tray that had preceded Maia into the room. "I see that thou hast had everything in the kitchen brought up. I am surprised poor Isheian did not collapse under the weight."

"Thou needst more sustenance than just lemon tea," Maia said.

"With honey," Csethiro said, and took a careful sip of her tea. "Mustn't forget that."

Maia smiled against Csethiro's hair. She was famous for drinking honey lemon tea during her pregnancies, and it was commonly bruited about court that the Prince Chenelis had inherited the honey and the Archduchess Navedo the tart lemon. Maia personally thought that no other children on the surface of the world could be as endlessly perfect as their own, but refrained from airing that notion in public, no matter how true it was. He kissed his wife on her temple and rubbed his cheek against her hair, inhaling her lovely scent. Csethiro liked her perfumes with an undertone of bergamot, and Maia had become very fond of the smell—clean, fresh, and a little tart. It was just like Csethiro, he thought, and winced a little at his pathetic excuse at profundity. "No, can't forget that. Hast decided when to tell the children?"

Csethiro drained her cup and handed it to him to put it back on the tray. "We should soon, for we make the announcement this week," she said, using the plural. "Tonight, during dinner. They will, of course, argue about whether it will be a boy or a girl, and thou wilt once again be obliged to lecture them about the art of diplomacy." She leaned more fully against him, yawning. "I hate this part of it more than the wretched vomit. The fatigue. I can think of no greater waste of a day than napping it away, canst thou?"

"Nap as long and as often as thou likest, please. I will dote shamelessly on thee, for thou'rt obliged to stay in one place for longer than three seconds," he said. "Prepare thyself, merrem."

She raised an eyebrow at him in friendly mockery. "I lie in wait, husband."

He kissed her cheek before disentangling himself from her so he could better reach the breakfast tray. He picked up a crumpet, slathered butter all over it, took a bite, and gave the rest to her.

"For shame, husband mine," she said, smiling at him. "Stealing food from the mouth of thy wife. I shall write my sisters about this affront, and they will harangue thee endlessly." She was still smiling as she bit into the crumpet.

"So long as thou sendst them only rank falsehoods and no state secrets," he said.

"I'll have thee know, I have not leaked state secrets in over a month."

"Good," he said, and leaned forward to wipe a dab of butter off her cheek with his thumb. "I knew I married a wise woman."

"Flattery will get thee nowhere, Serenity."

"We will see," he said, and handed her a bowl of almond oatmeal, fortified generously with cream and sprinkled with heaps of brown sugar. "But for now, I shall continue with my doting."

"Speaking of shameless doting," she said, "where are the children this morning? I expected them to come thundering in on thy heels."

"They are riding this morning with half a dozen grooms and all the guards Lieutenant Echana can spare." He watched her eat with no small amount of satisfaction. She bloomed during the second half of pregnancy, he had learned, but these first months were difficult for her. Csethiro never failed to scold him about letting his worries keep him from eating ("Are those peas merely for decoration, Edrehasivar?" she had archly asked him one evening, and Maia had been equal parts delighted and mortified, and moreover made sure to finish the food on his plate ever since) and this was a small way to repay the favor. That, and keeping the children away for an hour or so, to give her some peace.

She handed him an empty bowl. "Art done feeding me?"

"No," he said, and gave her another bowl, this one piled high with bright summer strawberries drenched in thick cream.

"Thou art shameless, Maia Drazhar," she said.

"All in thy service, Csethiro Drazharan," he replied, and stole a strawberry.

As she ate, and then sipped her coffee (coffee was the newest Barizeise import, produced farther south then even Anvernel, and Csethiro was ruinously fond of it), they spoke of family matters, for matters of state, they had decided years ago, had no place in their bedrooms. Her sisters would descend on the palace for the summer, which would be welcome, for Csethiro had missed them, the children loved playing with their cousins, and Maia reflexively liked anything that made his family happy, and was fond of them besides. Leilis Athmaza was, as expected, a fine tutor, fair and patient and gifted at keeping a young child's attention, and Chenelis liked him well enough. Mireän was sixteen this year, quivering on the cusp of full womanhood and eyeing the future dubiously.

"Has she said anything about university?" Maia asked. "Idra said he has spoken to her about it."

"She mentioned something," Csethiro began, but before she could tell him what Mireän had said, furious footsteps pounded on the hallway floor, and Navedo's voice trilled, "Good morning, Beshelar, Cala! We found a frog!" followed by Chenelis's more mellow greeting.

"Later," Csethiro said, and made sure to secure her coffee away from the bed. Maia went to let their children into the room, smiling all the way.

"Papa!" Navedo cried, throwing herself into his arms, while Chenelis followed at a more sedate pace. "We found a frog! It hopped on my head and away into the grass when I tried to get a closer look!"

Chanelis rolled his eyes, but was too kind a boy to curtail his sister's excesses of enthusiasm. "Good morning, Papa," he said, and even he, at a stout seven, was not yet old enough not to hold Maia's hand when he held it out. His children's hands were small still, but Maia was reminded of when their hands were smaller and dimpled and seeking, of how Maia had showered them with kisses with which their dignity could no longer abide—on their hands and their downy cheeks, on their bellies and their feet, on their noses and their dimpled knees. Soon, there would be a new baby to spoil, and Maia's heart lightened a bit.

"Come, tell me about your ride," Csethiro said, and Navedo went to her, bright and voluble. Beshelar and Cala settled into their stances by the door. They were reminders of the duties piling up beyond that door, and Csevet lurked somewhere with a sheaf of papers as thick as Maia's wrist. There was a vote in the Corazhas today, and Isthanar to be shouted down and…

Chenelis tugged on Maia's hand. "Wilt come talk for a bit, Papa?"

"Yes," Maia said. "Of course." And, for that morning, he did not think of duty. The empire, he had found, was not so fragile it could not withstand its emperor's happiness.


End file.
